


A Pale Sickly Yellow

by KorovaOverlook



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alana Bloom - Freeform, Autism, Autistic Will, Autistic Will Graham, Canon Autistic Character, Ficlet, Gen, Hannibal - Freeform, Hannibal Lecter - Freeform, Hannibal Lecter is a Cannibal, Hannibal is Bad, Introspection, Jack Crawford Being Jack Crawford, Jack Crawford Being an Asshole, Lunch, Someone Help Will Graham, Synesthesia, Will Graham - Freeform, Will Graham needs friends, bau, maybe? idk, not people, thoughts, you can fight me on this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-13
Updated: 2019-09-13
Packaged: 2020-10-18 00:49:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 984
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20630321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KorovaOverlook/pseuds/KorovaOverlook
Summary: Will Graham eats his lunch.





	A Pale Sickly Yellow

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! This is my first Hannibal fic. It's pretty much just Will Graham thinking to himself. I wrote him as autistic, and my source of information on autism was myself. I am autistic. I'm not planning on adding more to this story, but if you guys want more let me know! I may add some anyway.

Will drew in a deep breath, the AC-chilled air making the spit in his esophagus turn cold. The BAU’s break room smelled of stale coffee and dark brown. The shining silver fridge in the far right corner hummed, low and annoying. The sheer endlessness of the noise was slowly crushing his brain. On top of the hum, he could hear the machine emit a high whining noise. It made his head fill with hot white blue streaks. Will could see whirls of latte foam in his mind, coupled with lightning. He swallowed and blinked hard, the moist thought of swallowing spit momentarily bringing him into the present. It was unpleasant, and he shuddered. A pair of FBI agents entered the room. Will quickly glanced at them, hoping that they wouldn’t try to interact with him if he only looked for a little bit. 

One of the agents, a short blond woman, was staring at her phone, her lips pursed. Will felt a foreign wave of anger, then his own frustration. He hated it when other people’s emotions made him feel negative. It made his insides dark red. He could see the slick maroon strings of red anger in his chest. They filled up his heart and that means that they filled him. Distantly recognizing that he was becoming anxious, Will focused on his heartbeat (a vaguely restrictive feeling, and he became aware of his heartbeat moving his torso, but it was a sensation that was constant and easy to identify) just like Dr. Lecter told him to. 

He looked down at his lunch, which was the same as it was every day. A blueberry flavored bar with an American cheese sandwich on white bread. The white bread had a thin layer of butter on both slices. To add some spice to his life, Will had put some Old Bay seasoning on his sandwich. Dr. Lecter had told him to try new things, even if they were painful. He was sure Dr. Lecter would have an aneurysm if he knew what Will ate for lunch every day (especially today, what with the Old Bay seasoning on a cheese sandwich). Will got the feeling that he was more into elaborate and exotic meals, stuff that the average peon would be hard-pressed to find. Certainly not processed sugar and plastic with a minimal amount of yeast added. Next to the veritable smörgåsbord of processed foods, there was a 16.9 oz bottle of water. 

His lunch was simple. Bland. Underwhelming. Just how he liked it. Will took a bite of his sandwich, enjoying the creamy feeling of the butter combined with the dryness of the bread. Surprisingly, once the flavor of the Old Bay hit him, he liked that too. It interacted with the textures of the butter, bread and cheese in a pleasing fashion. He could feel the grains of the Old Bay scrape against his tongue. His mind was filled with a pleasant burnt orange inspired by the color of his chosen seasoning. 

There was a loud scrape against the floor, stabbing Will’s brain. His heart skipped a beat. His head shot up and he saw that the blond agent was walking out of the room, her phone clutched in her hand and sweat starting to bead on her brow. The other agent quickly followed her. The sudden absence of people in the area gave Will’s senses more room to stretch out. His mind picked up on the familiar visual textures of the ugly dark green carpet, imagining how it would feel against his hand. The knots and pills in the fabric rumpled against his imaginary hand. He felt oddly alone.

Will thought back to the last time he’d eaten lunch with someone. That someone had been Jack Crawford. They had eaten at a small bistro near the BAU headquarters, about a week ago. Will wasn’t sure about the exact date. His brain had been feeling a bit stuffy and hot the past few weeks. It had been messing with his concentration. He kept on seeing faint black flashes everywhere. But Dr. Lecter assured him it was just stress. Will believed Dr. Lecter. Or at least he tried to. He wasn’t stupid, and he was beginning to suspect he should get an MRI or something. No matter what his new...psychiatrist said, hallucinations weren’t normal. He focused on his heartbeat again.

Will was pretty sure that Jack had only eaten lunch with him to try and assuage the guilt he felt for putting Will back in the field. Will had only agreed to have lunch with him because when it came to Jack, Will didn’t have much of a choice. In anything. 

Jack had ordered for the both of them. He got a club soda for Will. Will didn’t have the energy to tell Jack that he hated carbonated drinks. Carbonation was bubbly pale sick yellow pain. It made him want to vomit every time he tasted it. Will drank the club soda anyway. But he only drank a little bit.

Blinking hard once again, Will pulled himself out of his inner universe and focused on the outside universe. Sometimes the things in his head felt so much more real than the physical world. He laid his left hand on the table, noticing how his sticky, sweaty palm pressed up against the cheap plastic. It was a bad feeling, and he rubbed his hand on his pants. The denim lightly scratched his skin. He took a sip of his water. The coolness spread into his chest, washing away the last strings of maroon and replacing them with clear calm. The water settled in his stomach, making him a little uncomfortable. But he could deal with it. The feeling would go away soon. 

Then, he stood up, threw away his half-eaten lunch, and went back into the labyrinth halls of the BAU.

Will wasn’t hungry anymore.

**Author's Note:**

> In case you had any doubt, I'm hardcore projecting onto Will in this fic. The way this version of Will experiences the world (in a sensory...sense) isn't exactly the same as I do, but it's pretty close. Sometimes, things I experience become closely associated with colors, which is what Will experiences in this fic. It may be synesthesia, maybe not. I don't know much about synesthesia. If you have any thoughts or questions about this aspect of the story (or the story as a whole), feel free to write about it in the comments.
> 
> The Old Bay sandwich is something I eat in real life. My family thinks it's gross. I think it's great. Fun times.


End file.
